Stonewalled
by AnisaLee
Summary: The 1960s was an era full of change, especially in NYC.  Police persecution towards the gay community was at a high.  When police officer Blaine meets Kurt Hummel he starts a journey of self discovery, wherein he begins to question everything.
1. Chapter 1

Full description: The 1960s was an era full of change, especially in NYC. Police persecution towards the gay community was at a high. Blatant racism and homophobia haunted the streets. Kurt Hummel is part time drag queen, Katrina Delmonte, when it's considered illegal to walk the streets in less than three pieces of gender specific clothing. Blaine Anderson is a rookie cop assigned to a new task force designated to clean up the deviance in New York City. When Blaine meets Katrina and Kurt, he starts a journey of self discovery, wherein he begins to question who he is and everything he's been trained to know.

A/N: This is a story inspired by the Stonewall Riots that took place on June 28, 1969. Please read the authors note preceding the beginning of chapter 1 for more information. I've pretty much completed this story, so it will be updated once or twice a week. This is a completely AU story. Reviews are always welcome and appreciated.

_This story will contain very strong language, homophobia and a bit of racist talk. I was first inspired to write this story when I was watching RuPaul's Drag Race Untucked. Chad Michaels and Willam Belli were discussing the Stonewall Riots and what it was like to be gay in NYC in the 1960s. I did a bit of research on the Stonewall Riots and 1960s NYC and this is what happened. Most of it is already written and will be updated once or twice a week, starting Monday. I haven't decided yet on a posting schedule. Please be aware that I've tried to be as historically accurate as possible, but there might be some historical inaccuracies. _

* * *

><p>Lightly glossed pink lips rolled over each other one last time in the mirror before the compact was snapped shut and slipped into a small handbag.<p>

The night air was cooler than normal. A coat was pulled a lighter tighter, causing the handbag to slip from a shoulder. It was immediately readjusted before a pale fist reached out to knock on a dilapidated door that had seen its share of better days.

A small peep hole opened to reveal a slightly bloodshot eye.

"Yup?"

"ITB."

"You lookin' like you're here to cause trouble," the voice grumbled.

"Get Frankie."

The eye stared for a second, "You need to get through me."

"I'm ITB, in the books. Go ask Frankie."

"Fine," the voice groaned and a second later a different eye appeared in the window.

"Are you going to make me say it Frankie?"

Without a word the door opened just enough to accommodate the person before it was quickly shut.

"Ms. Katrina Delmonte, stunning as always," Frankie winked and passed a guest book over to her.

Katrina nodded, "He new?" She gestured to the doorman before scribbling her name in the book.

"Had to hire another pair of hands. You know those Lily Law's are starting to watch the joint. Just last week Martino's place was raided," Frankie explained.

Katrina grimaced, "And Martino had connections." She took a deep breath and smiled, "Well, that's not going to happen here because I'm performing tonight."

"That's right Ms. Delmonte. I got the 45 set up for you."

Katrina nodded, "Give me a minute."

She walked over to the bar area and gave her purse to James, the bartender, who slid it under the bar. She took a deep calming breath. Despite her words to Frankie, one of the few men who owned a gay bar who was actually gay, there was a knot in her stomach. Police raids were becoming more frequent and were more targeted towards the West Village than ever. What's more, Katrina Delmonte wasn't real. Katrina Delmonte wasn't even a woman. Katrina Delmonte was actually Kurt Hummel, boy from a small town in Ohio.

He had moved to the big city shortly after his mom had died. His father had barely been in any condition to take care of himself, let alone his seventeen year old son. So, with the $200 he got from his mom's small life insurance plan, he bought a one way bus ticket. He hadn't known what he was looking for. He just knew he had to do something.

Right after stepping off the bus at Grand Central, he flocked to the West Village. Back in Lima he had heard murmurings of a more tolerant community called the West Village. So, that's where he headed. He found a dive building and rented a room with a bed and a sink for $50. That very first night he stepped out onto Christopher Street looking for Utopia. He discovered pretty quickly that this fantasized Nirvana didn't exist.

"Folks, we got a treat for you. Ms. Katrina Delmonte has agreed to perform tonight," Frankie announced to the small number of patrons who had been granted access to the bar.

Kurt pulled himself together and walked the short distance to the small clearing Frankie set up. He took a deep breath, letting go of Kurt and allowing Katrina to take over.

"This is for anyone who's known heartbreak," Katrina motioned to Frankie, who promptly started the song.

Familiar chords rang out as Katrina sashayed around the small area.

"_Baby, baby. Baby don't leave me. Oh don't leave me all by myself_," Katrina lip synced.

It was always a rush to perform. Kurt didn't have many opportunities as a boy to sing, his voice being called unnatural and "girly." But as Katrina he could do things that Kurt couldn't. Katrina was confident and smart. She was independent but not overzealous. Best of all, on most days she could pass for a biological girl who turned the heads of the straight boys.

Katrina sauntered over to a middle aged man and made a production out of it. He kept an eye on the tip jar Frankie had generously placed on a nearby table for her.

"_Before you won my heart, you were the perfect guy. But now that you got me you want to leave me behind_," she pouted, inwardly smiling when she saw him pull out a dollar and reach behind to the tip jar.

Most men left pennies and nickels if anything, but this was an open treat. That would buy a new record, maybe two if they were on sale and give her more material to perform.

Katrina was just finishing the song when bright white lights flooded the room. Frankie immediately stopped the music as everyone scrambled to find another exit, but it was too late. Police officers swarmed in from all sides. The once musical atmosphere was replaced with chaos.

"Against the wall! Line up! This is a raid!" A harsh voice commanded. "Now! Against the wall!"

Kurt stood frozen. He had always heard of raids, but never himself had been caught. He mentally tried to come up with something, anything that would keep him from being arrested. The law stated if he wasn't wearing three articles of men's clothing he would be arrested. If he was wearing drag he would be arrested.

Slowly, he joined the thirty or so other patrons who had gotten into the bar against the wall.

"Get your ID's out faggots," a police officer demanded.

A sense of anger and fear fell over the group. Shaking hands drew out draft cards and whatever they thought could help the situation.

Kurt inwardly cursed himself. He wasn't even supposed to be Katrina that night. Frankie had been desperate and wanted to give the patrons a sense of hope or whatever. So, hesitantly Kurt had agreed to bring out Katrina Delmonte. The rent was due and he was running dangerously low on food and the typically $8 or so he'd make in tips would certainly help a little.

Taking a deep breath, he watched as several officers started checking out the patron's credentials. Every so often they'd pull someone from the line – which he knew wasn't a good sign. Those people were going to get a free ride to Rikers.

"Umm, ma'am, do you have ID?" A nervous young man in a uniform approached Kurt.

Kurt shook his head.

"Ma'am I-I really need to see your ID."

"I don't have any," Kurt tried to make his voice sound as light and airy as possible.

The officer looked around nervously, "W-what's your name?"

"Katrina Delmonte," Kurt tried to make his tone sound as even as possible.

"Katrina? Why is a woman like you in _this_ place?" The officer asked genuinely curious.

"A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do," Kurt shrugged, hoping his makeup and wig stayed perfectly in place.

The officer nodded, "You can go ma'am."

"Thank you Officer…?"

"Anderson. Blaine Anderson," he smiled and motioned to the other officers to let _Katrina_ go without hesitation.

Kurt held his breath as he side stepped the chaos. His heels clicked against the floor as he reached the exit. He threw Frankie a sympathetic look and hurried out into the night. He didn't think he let go of that breath until he was locked and tucked away into his small hovel of a room.

~~~~~(~~~~~)~~~~~(~~~~~)~~~~~

"You doing okay Rookie?"

Blaine watched in a daze as half the patrons had been arrested and another half were roughed up a bit before they were let go. A couple of fellow officers were currently raiding the bar area, taking water liquor they could find.

"I'm…" Blaine didn't know what to say.

"Yeah, you'll get used to seeing so many pansies in one place," the officer shrugged. "This is only your fourth raid. You'll get used to it."

Blaine swallowed hard. He had come to New York as a rookie officer bent on cleaning up crime and helping people. He had been beyond excited when his commanding officer had put him on a new task force set to restore honesty and integrity to the city. A few months prior, Blaine had dawned his freshly pressed uniform and performed his first _civil morality_ action. He had anticipated stopping a drug deal or other crimes in progress. What he didn't expect was to be told to draw his gun and burst into an establishment wherein he didn't think anyone was doing anything wrong. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the look of terror on people's faces, or having to interrogate a person strictly because they were caught in the wrong place.

"What's this?" An officer behind the bar held up a small, white hand bag.

"Please sir that belongs to a friend," the owner, Frankie, held out his hand.

The officer smirked, "Well, it's mine now."

"Please," Frankie tried once more, only to be ignored.

Blaine watched as Frankie turned to the bartender.

"Why didn't you hide Katrina's bag?" Frankie whispered.

Katrina's bag? Blaine took a deep breath and approached the officer. "Sir, I'll take that down to evidence if you want. I want to practice how to catalogue items."

The officer gave him an incredulous look before sighing and handing the bag to Blaine. "Probably full of gay shit anyways."

Blaine nodded in thanks and quickly left the building. He had felt sick when the raid had first happened and as the night had progressed, the small bar seemed too stuffy. He just needed air.

While he stood breathing in the cool air, his fingers grazed over the latch on the bag. He knew it was wrong, but he was curious. Katrina Delmonte was a beautiful girl and had left him in confusion as to why a classy girl like her would ever be caught in a bar in the West Village. Blaine pegged her to be a Madison Avenue type girl, who probably had a wealthy businessman husband. Her husband probably wouldn't be too happy to know his girl was wandering in a less than savory part of town.

Carefully, he let his fingers open the purse in his hands and peered in. He didn't know what he was expecting, but the contents were that of a normal girl. A compact, lipstick and a wallet.

Biting his lip, Blaine pulled out the wallet and opened it. He located a state ID inside and grasped it, expecting to see Katrina's face peering up at him. Instead, what he saw stopped the breath in his lungs. There in front of him was a picture of a boy staring up at him.

_Kurt Hummel._

_Born May 1952. _

_Kurt Hummel._

_Male._

_Born May 1952. _

_Male._

Blaine studied the picture in his hand before another piece of paper caught his eye. A draft card registered to the same Kurt Hummel. In a hurry, he replaced the items in the bag as if he'd been burnt.

"You're off duty, Rookie," an officer popped his head out of the bar, "You can go home."

Blaine nodded to himself and disappeared into the night. He needed time to think and take in what the hell had just happened.

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><p>AN: Please review! This is one story that I really, REALLY want to know your opinions on.

*Song Katrina sings is "Where Did Our Love Go" by Diana Ross and the Supremes

*Also, Katrina says she's "in the books." In a lot of gay bars (per my research) patrons were required to sign a guest book. Bars were also typically exclusive as entry was permitted to those who appeared "gay." Seriously, research this stuff folks. It's just mind blowing what went on.

Please follow me on tumblr: anisaleefiction


	2. Chapter 2

"Fruit and toast," Kurt set the plate down in front of his best friend Mercedes.

Mercedes playfully rolled her eyes from her place at the kitchen table in her apartment, "When you said you were coming over to make me breakfast, I assumed you meant real breakfast."

"This is real breakfast," Kurt argued shoving a grape into his mouth.

"So spill," Mercedes raised an eyebrow. "What happened that caused you to come round at nine in the morning?"

"How're you and Sam doing?" Kurt ignored her.

"Don't change the subject."

"Answer my question," Kurt stated.

Mercedes sighed in defeat, "We're doing. The landlord threatened to kick us out the other day and Sam had to slip a little extra into the rent to shut him up. It's 1969 Kurt! You'd think with the work that Dr. King did, God rest his soul, that we'd be past this. Look at Diana Ross! I love Sam and Sam loves me. Just because we aren't the same color…" Mercedes blew out a heated breath.

"Where's Sam?"

"Left early for work. One of the guys came by early and said something about a broken subway car. Sam had to go help fix it," Mercedes explained.

"Wasn't he supposed to have today off?"

"Yeah. It would've been his first day off in twelve days, but his boss found out about me. Sam's doing everything he can to keep him quiet. People at his work don't take too kindly to black people. Sam said a black guy tried to get a job and his boss threatened to have him arrested. The other day I heard at the salon, a white boy was beaten up so bad he died in the hospital 'cause his girlfriend was black," Mercedes sniffled.

"Sorry Cedes," Kurt reached across the table and patted her hand. "If it makes you feel any better, Frankie's got raided last night."

Mercedes eyes opened wide in surprise, "What? Was Katrina there?"

"Yes she was," Kurt sighed and tossed a banana slice into his mouth. "She was trying out her new Diana number."

"Were you lined up?"

Kurt nodded, "Sure was."

"How are you not at Rikers right now?" Mercedes gasped.

"Lucky, I guess," Kurt shrugged.

"Lucky? No one just gets lucky like that! Especially not after being raided by the police! Did they ID you?"

Kurt nodded, "The cop thought Katrina was really a woman."

"He did?" Mercedes couldn't help but laugh.

"He kept calling me ma'am," Kurt held up his hands in amusement.

Mercedes shook her head.

"He was kind of cute. He told me his name was Blaine Anderson," Kurt took a deep breath. He had been on edge since he had closed his door the night before. Or was it earlier that morning? Regardless, he was sure he'd be followed home and carted off in handcuffs. He hadn't even allowed himself to breathe properly until he had walked through Mercedes' apartment.

"You're terrible, Kurt Hummel," Mercedes could only roll her eyes and smile.

~~~~~(~~~~~)~~~~~(~~~~~)~~~~~

Reading the address he had scribbled onto a scrap piece of paper for the tenth time, Blaine smoothed down his button down shirt. He made sure it was tucked into his pants and looked neat and crisp.

He didn't know if it was against policy or what, but he knew for sure he wasn't going to take the handbag to evidence. No crime had been committed by Katrina and he wanted to get her bag back to her, regardless of the oddity inside.

Blaine actually didn't know what drew him to Katrina. She was beautiful, that was for sure, but New York City was full of beautiful women. There was something about her. She was different. There was something soft and feminine yet strong and masculine about her. He knew he just wanted to see her again.

Looking down at the address one last time, he looked up to spot a shoddy looking brick building a few blocks away from the bar he found her in. He scrunched up his face in confusion.

"Excuse me," he stopped a man heading into the building, "Is this address this building?" Blaine held up the paper to him.

The man nodded, "Yes. You looking to rent a room here?"

"No," Blaine shook his head. "I'm looking for a woman named Katrina Delmonte. Does she live here?"

"Never heard of her," the man shrugged.

Blaine frowned, "Oh okay."

"Okay," the man started to turn away.

"Wait!" Blaine startled himself, "Does Kurt...Kurt Hummel live here?"

That stopped the man in his tracks, "What do you want with Kurt Hummel?"

"I just, I have something that might belong to him," Blaine took an involuntary step backwards at the tone of the man's voice.

"And you are?"

"Blaine," Blaine purposely left out his last name and the fact that he was a police officer. He knew what people thought of the police; the stigma that the uniform brought.

The man raised an eyebrow before nodding, "I'm Mike Chang. What is it that you have of his?"

Blaine held up the item in his hand, "Just something."

"Why are you holding a pocketbook?" Mike asked noticing the item in Blaine's hand before a look passed over his face. "Are you a _friend of Dorothy's_?" He whispered.

"I don't…I don't know what that means," Blaine frowned.

Mike chuckled, "I guess not. Anyways, I'm not sure when Kurt will be back. Sorry."

"Okay. I'll wait out here," Blaine shrugged, sitting down on the steps leading to the building.

"Suit yourself guy," Mike shrugged and entered the building.

~~~~~(~~~~~)~~~~~(~~~~~)~~~~~

Kurt casually strolled up his street to his apartment. After his conversation with Mercedes, he felt better and a lot of the nerves and fear had dissipated during the morning. The raid really terrified him. He had only heard stories of men being taken away in a cop car, not to be seen again for weeks, months and sometimes years. He had been fighting with himself on the subway ride back from Mercedes and had decided that maybe Katrina Delmonte needed to be retired for a little while. He made a mental note to check on Frankie and tell him about Katrina.

Breathing in some air, he dug in his pocket for his keys. He decided he really needed to move out of the building and find some place that was...better. Sure, he loved the people in the building. He took dance lessons from Mike Chang, cooked with Tina in the communal kitchen and shared makeup tips with Quinn. He and Rachel would go window shopping together on Fifth Avenue and when Mercedes and Sam had lived there, he would find himself in their rooms more than his.

He reached his building's door and froze. There was Officer Blaine Anderson sitting on his stoop. Kurt was just about to turn away and head back the way he came when Blaine stood up.

"Are you Kurt Hummel?"

Kurt sucked in a breath. He knew it was too good to be true. The officer was there to arrest him and throw him into the catacombs of some prison miles away from everything he knew. "No," he murmured in the deepest voice he could muster as he tried to slip away. He knew how the officers operated. If they believed a man's voice was too high or he walked too feminine, that was grounds for an arrest.

"Yes, you're Kurt Hummel," Blaine persisted. "Aren't you?"

"No," Kurt cleared his throat. "You have the wrong guy."

Blaine shook his head, "I have your ID." He held out the picture card and a draft card.

"How-how did you get that?" Kurt went to snatch the items from Blaine's hand.

"So you agree that you are Kurt Hummel?"

Kurt sighed, "Yes, okay."

"Here," Blaine handed over the documents.

"Thanks," Kurt haphazardly shoved the documents into his pocket and started to walk away.

Blaine shook his head, "Wait! I was wondering if you knew Katrina Delmonte."

"Why do you want to know? And who did you say you were again?" Kurt pretended to be clueless.

"My name's Blaine and I have her pocketbook," Blaine held up the white bag.

Kurt stopped the cringe that went through him. He had forgotten that he left it behind the bar at Frankie's. The cops must have found it during their ransacking. "How do you know Katrina?"

"We met last night at a bar in town. I'm sorry, are you her husband?" Blaine's eyes opened wide in realization. That could explain why Katrina had the ID in her bag.

Kurt tried to stifle his laugh at the incredulous notion. He may try to keep his sexuality a secret because of the police state New York had become, but he figured even the most naive person could guess there was something different about him.

"What?" Blaine asked in confusion.

"No, I'm not her husband," Kurt finally said with a chuckle, "But I'll be sure that she gets her pocketbook."

Blaine hesitated, "I'd like to give it to her myself if I could."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Kurt reached for the bag again only to have Blaine take a step back.

"I'll wait for her to come home then," Blaine decided.

Kurt frowned, "You're not going to go away until you see her, are you?"

"I just want to make sure she's okay. Some things happened last night and I just wanted to check on her," Blaine explained before his eyebrows shot up. "Not _those_things. I just…something happened at the bar we were at and I just wanted to make sure she was all right."

"Listen, Blaine, you do realize where you're at, right? You know what part of town you're in, don't you?" Kurt shoved a hand into his pocket.

Blaine nodded, "The West Village."

"And do you know what goes on in the West Village?" Kurt hinted.

Gulping, Blaine nodded, "I know that there are _those_ types of establishments here."

"You're new in town, aren't you?" Kurt stated with a frank tone.

Blaine sighed, "Is it that obvious?"

"Come on," Kurt sighed, "I'll buy you a coffee." He didn't know what possessed him to suggest it to the man. Especially to a police officer who could lock him away for a long time.

"I…maybe that's not such a good idea," Blaine glanced around.

"It's fine. I know a place. I'll tell you about Katrina," Kurt stated.

Blaine finally nodded in acquiescence. "Okay."

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><p>AN: PLEASE REVIEW! YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING!


	3. Chapter 3

The diner was small. Only a few tables fit into the small space. There were only two people in the place besides them.

"Leaded or unleaded," an older woman appeared at the table Kurt had picked out in the back of the establishment.

"Regular," Blaine nodded.

"How about you hon?"

"Same," Kurt watched as she poured the hot liquid into two dingy cups.

She nodded towards a chalk board at the front, next to the door. "Specials are on the board. If you want something else just holler." With that she disappeared.

"So," Blaine took a sip of his coffee, "You said you'd tell me about Katrina."

"Why are you so interested in her?" Kurt asked, amusement lacing his voice.

Blaine shrugged.

"Tell me, Blaine, do you have a last name?"

"Umm…Anderson," Blaine nodded.

"Blaine Anderson, why were you at _this_ bar last night?" Kurt wondered.

Blaine sucked his bottom lip into his mouth before taking another drink of his coffee. "I was just out."

"Katrina told me the place she was at was raided by cops looking for gays," Kurt decided to divulge a small amount of information.

Blaine closed his eyes briefly, "Yeah, well…it…"

"You're a police officer, aren't you?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Blaine asked in shock.

"I know what happened last night," Kurt admitted.

Blaine shook his head, "No…it's…"

"You helped raid the place."

"I'm not proud of it," Blaine admitted, "Can you please just tell me how Katrina is?"

"Hmm," Kurt reached into his pocket and threw a few coins on the table, "I need to go."

Blaine stood up, "Please, can you give this to Katrina? Tell her I hope last night didn't scare her too badly?" He asked desperately, placing the handbag in Kurt's hand.

"What do you want with her?" Kurt set the bag on the table between them.

"I told you –"

"Officer Anderson?" Kurt sighed, "Maybe it's best if you stick to your side of town and forget about Katrina."

Blaine watched as Kurt picked up the handbag once more. The taller man stopped at the counter and asked the waitress for a plastic bag, in which he promptly shoved the item into it. Kurt quickly exited the building and disappeared into the crowded street. Blaine was half tempted to follow Kurt, but decided against it. Exhaling, he placed a dollar on top of Kurt's coins and nodded to the waitress before he disappeared outside too.

He didn't quite know what to do with himself. He wasn't needed back at the precinct until later that night. Blaine thought about going back to his apartment, but didn't want to take the train all the way uptown to just come back downtown in a few hours. So, he made a decision and walked the few blocks over to Frankie's bar. He figured no one would be there, but hoped that he'd be wrong.

The bar looked different in the daylight. The men on the task force had called it a _faggot's whore house_. He was told to expect semen and other bodily fluids on the floor, as well as _sickening acts of perversion_. In the light, the bar looked like an old brick building with a chipped door.

With slight hesitation, Blaine reached out to grasp the door handle and pushed the door open. It gave way easily and Blaine found himself inside the same room he had been in the night before. The bar area had been tossed and the chairs in the place were overturned. Other than that, it looked normal. That's what surprised Blaine the most. He had expected to see evidence of disgust and homosexuality. Instead, there wasn't anything but a few empty liquor bottles.

"You can't be in here," a deep voice stated, "We're closed indefinitely."

Blaine turned to come face to face with Frankie.

"You!" Frankie accused, "You're not welcome here!"

"Please," Blaine held up his hands in surrender. "I just wanted to talk."

Frankie chuckled humorlessly, "Talk? Like you and your fellow officers decided to talk last night when you raided my place?"

"I'm…I don't know what to say," Blaine stated sincerely. "I'm sorry things went down like that."

"Sorry," Frankie exhaled, "None of you Betty Badges ever says sorry."

Blaine shrugged and chose to ignore the police slur. He knew they existed. He had been called his fair share of names since joining the force.

"Tell me, you're a rookie, right?" Frankie righted two chairs and motioned for Blaine to sit. "I heard an officer call you that last night."

"Yeah," Blaine took a seat and stared as Frankie pulled a flask out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Do you like being a cop?" Frankie took a long pull from the container and handed it to Blaine. Blaine sat still for a minute. "You're not on duty are you? Won't harm you to have a sip."

"No, I guess not," Blaine took a timid drink. The liquid burned its way down his throat and he sputtered.

Frankie laughed, "Strong stuff."

"Yeah," Blaine nodded and allowed himself to indulge a little more.

"So, you boys never come round twice. You usually raid a place and that's that."

Blaine swallowed, "I guess I wanted to see what this place looked like. In the daylight, I mean."

"Well, here it is," Frankie held out his arms, "Or what's left of it after you boys appropriated my bar."

Blaine took a good look around the space. "I guess I was expecting more."

"More?" Frankie found amusement in that statement. "Despite popular belief, not all gay bars are code for sex."

"No, I guess not," Blaine took the flask from Frankie.

"So, officer…"

"Anderson," Blaine decided he probably should try and keep at least a small sense of decorum in this. He was, after all, an officer of the law and part of the NYPD.

Frankie nodded, "Officer Anderson. Why are you here? There's nothing left for you here."

"Can I ask you a question?" Blaine declined the flask, "Why do you do this? If you know that raids can happen, why do you continue to stay in business?"

"I think it's time for you to go Officer Anderson," Frankie stood up.

"Blaine. You can call me Blaine. Don't think of me as an officer right now," Blaine begged, not wanting to leave quite yet. Screw decorum.

Frankie thought for a second and sat back down, "Why do you want to know? Why should I call you Blaine as if we're equals? You can already call me a faggot, pansy or whatever else you want to. You can beat the living shit out of me and face no repercussions from your job."

"I'm not going to do that," Blaine stated pointedly.

"Okay," Frankie took a long pull from his flask, "Community. I do it for the community. People need somewhere to go."

"And Ms. Katrina Delmonte? She's doing this to help the community?" Blaine asked eagerly.

"Why do you want to know about her?" Frankie asked tightly.

Blaine smoothed back his already styled hair. "I wanted to see if she was all right. I let her go last night because she didn't need to see what was happening."

"You're the officer that let her go?"

"Yeah," Blaine nodded, "A pretty girl like her didn't deserve to be caught up in that mess."

Frankie nodded to himself, "Pretty _girl_. Yeah. Look, officer, you seem like an okay guy. Not like your buddies. So, I'm going to give you some advice. Stay away from Katrina Delmonte."

"Kurt Hummel practically said the same thing."

"You met Kurt Hummel?" Frankie asked in genuine surprise.

Blaine nodded, "His ID was in Ms. Delmonte's pocketbook."

"Another word of advice, don't go near Kurt Hummel again," Frankie said pointedly. "Don't contact Kurt or Katrina again."

"With all due respect, sir, I am still an officer in this city and if I want to contact Kurt and Katrina, I will," Blaine tried to appear bold.

Frankie snorted, "That was almost believable. How long have you been on the force?"

"Three months," Blaine responded.

"Why do you do it?" Frankie asked.

Blaine shrugged, "It's a good job."

"Right. It sure is a good _job_." Frankie sighed, "Well, Officer Anderson, if you'll excuse me, I need to start cleaning up the mess that New York's _finest_ left me with." He offered Blaine one last drink and Blaine obliged before leaving the destroyed bar.


End file.
